the more you sharpen the better it cuts
by mellieforyellie
Summary: She is beautiful, she is talented, and she is oh, so charismatic. Still, Natalya wonders why her Vanya doesn't come home. — seven sin series ; based off vocaloid.


**disclaimer: haha, you're funny.  
><span>prompt:<span> the vocaloid "seven sins" PV's done with hetalia characters. bonus if you keep all the same characters.  
><span>notes1:<span> oh, you guys can imagine i had fun with this.  
><span>notes2:<span> this would be "tailor shop of enbizaka", or _envy_.  
><span>cast:<span> belarus as _luka_; russia as _kaito_; china as _meiko_; poland as _miku_; and lietchenstein as _rin_.**

* * *

><p>She was a tailor.<p>

It was a fairly mundane life, something passed down to her from her mother and her mother's mother before that. It was an acquired skill, oh, definitely — it required precision and patience, especially with those damned sewing scissors. Yes, you know that ones, the ones that are needed to be sharp and edgy, yet — ah, they dull so fast.

"The more you sharpen it, the better it cuts," her mother always used to tell her.

It is a daily ritual, sharpening her mother's old scissors in the morning before the usual customers pile in. Yes, she is the talk of the town, with her fine looks and her marvelous skills and how brightly she addresses her customers.

Natalya is all of this, and as she deals with the seemingly endless flow of customers, she wonders why her husband never comes home. Yes, her beautiful husband with his silver-blonde hair and sparkling violet eyes and warm hands that fit perfectly at her hips —

Oh, why does she never see him?

But she must concentrate on her work, because she thinks that perhaps, if she becomes the best seamstress, he will notice her and come home. She focuses on the sharp edge of the sewing scissors slicing the fabric cleanly, on the taut feel of the needle as she threads, on the soft feel on the silk on her hands.

* * *

><p>The neighborhood is calm and peaceful, for the life of those in it is calm and peaceful. People stroll along the beautiful bridge that views their river; women giggle and window-shop down the streets of stores; men peer lustily into the town's bath.<p>

It is while she is out buying thread that she spots him on the mainstreet, and she almost runs toward him, oh, she is so happy to see him —

But he is with a woman, and that is enough to stop Natalya in her tracks. She's so, very beautiful, with long, silky black hair and one of the finest, richest red kimono's she's ever seen. He kisses her hand, and her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks as she blushes.

It feels almost disturbing to watch them, because she is like the finest, purest beauty next to him, who is handsome in a rougher kind of way. No, Natalya decides, they don't fit together at all.

_Oh, __Vanya_, she thinks, _how__ could __you __do __this__ to __me?_

* * *

><p>Her eyes strain as she concentrates on the kimono in front of her, carefully cutting, carefully threading. It is late, and sometimes the images in front of her blur together, making her accidentally prick herself, or absently cut a little skin off the top of her finger.<p>

This tailor request was so unique, she thinks. So interesting — she checks the size she is tailoring and, how odd, there is a woman with her exact measurements requesting this? And the kimono is such a vibrant, deep shade of red and it almost reminds Natalya of — oh, no, she shouldn't go there. That would only make her unhappy.

Oh, and now she can't stop crying, warm tears spilling onto her cheeks. She can't stop them, so she focuses on the sharpness of the blade (hm, has it always been this sharp at the end of the day?), on the taut thread pulled by the needle, and stares, confounded at these dark spots in the fabric.

_My_, she thinks_,__ they__'__re __everywhere_.

Peculiar, peculiar indeed.

* * *

><p>The neighborhood is uneasy, for the life of those in it is. It seems there was a crime that night, a beautiful wife slain in cold blood. Her murder is plastered through the mouths of all the inhabitants; women whisper in conspiracy as they pass by the shops; men warily stare at others, wondering who is the killer.<p>

She is sleepy as she ventures into town that afternoon. She wonders who asked her to tailor that beautiful kimono — there was no name attached to the measurement sheet, and no one picked it up that morning, and so Natalya decides to wear it herself. She thinks it complements her nicely; it makes her skin look fair and unblemished, and gives her silvery-blonde hair a healthy underglow. Although, she can't find the sash to it for the life of her, and it really is such a tragedy that she can't wear it over such a silly thing.

She spots _him_ again, his composure crumpled over himself, leaning on the rail of the bridge. She almost goes to comfort him, until she sees _her_.

It is a new woman this time, with beautiful, golden blonde hair and a slim figure. She almost _has_ no figure, Natalya thinks, the bulky green sash covering any evidence of a small waist. But it suits her well, as it complements her eyes and the vibrant color of her kimono.

The woman coos at Vanya, holding him in her arms and wiping his tears with her thumbs — and Natalya thinks it looks ridiculous, because she is so _tiny_ and he is so large.

_Ah, _she thinks_,__so __those __are__ the __kind__ of__ women__ you __like_.

* * *

><p>She has another strange request again tonight, as she is up late once more. She desperately wishes she could decline this request, so she could just get some sleep already, but her mother would roll in her grave if she ever found out Natalya denied good money.<p>

So she concentrates on her work, focusing on the careful cutting of fabric, the precise sewing of thread so that the sash will look like it's always been this long. (Oh, is she making this for the same mysterious woman who commissioned for that kimono last night?)

Really, it's just a brilliant color of green, a mix between jade and teal, and — oh, oh, _oh_, it looks just like that color that small woman with Vanya was wearing. The tears try to come again, but _no_, she doesn't let them, even though her eyes and nose turn red as if she were crying, anyhow.

This color brings so much pain, yet so much joy. It is so bright and vibrant, so _alive_ — but, oh, what's this, this disgusting stain of brown on the back? Ugh, that just simply won't _do_, she thinks.

She washes it in a basin of cool water, and is particularly puzzled when the water turns a deep red, and the room is filled with the nauseating smell of copper. She frowns when, no matter how hard she scrubs, that blasted stain won't fully come out.

_So__ very__ strange_, she thinks as she takes the sash down from where it had dried, and sews on an extra panel over the stain to cover it up.

Strange, very strange indeed.

* * *

><p>The neighborhood is restless, for the life of those in it is. It seems there has been another crime: the killing of a petite woman, who is really nothing of a woman at all, but a son disguised as a daughter. The people slander the name of the family; women gossip about how well they knew the boy-woman; men shamelessly stare in disgust at the father.<p>

Natalya is so _very_ tired as she walks into town that afternoon. Her days get more and more peculiar — yet again, no one claims that pretty, pretty sash. But she thinks it fits nicely to her lovely red kimono, and almost wears it out. But no, she doesn't today, either — something is missing from her garb, but she just can't place it.

She strolls along the shops, on her way out to buy some more needles, when she spots her beloved once more. He is with another woman this time — oh, no, she is hardly a woman, if one at all. She is much too young, much too naïve, and thanks him profusely for, what is it? Oh, a yellow hair pin.

Natalya crinkles her nose at the sight, because while the pin is beautiful, it is not befitting for someone like her — that pin is better suited for a woman, for something with mature, beautiful features, not that girl's childish, pretty face. It makes the girl's dirty, dirty blonde hair look even duller by comparison.

_Oh,__ Vanya_, she thinks, _what__ are__ you__ doing_?

* * *

><p>Yet again, another request, but, oh, what it is? She can't tell, so tired from night after night of no sleep, her eyes flutter shut but she knows she's doing what she should.<p>

She finally opens her eyes and, well, where's her work? It's much too soon after hours, could the customer have picked it up already? She ponders this as she shuffles about the store.

_Oh, __look!_ she thinks as she spots something pretty on the table. Ahh, it is a yellow hairpin and it fits ever so nicely in her hair. It's just like the one that silly little girl had been given by Vanya — but, oh, it looks _so_ much nicer on her. It adds some delicious brightness to her hair, and well, would you look at that, it is the missing piece to her outfit.

Oh, this is so perfect, she must show Vanya!

But for now, she decides, while the night is young, she'll get some rest.

* * *

><p><em>The beautiful woman stares at her in alarm, her dark red lips trembling in the meager light of an oil lamp. She tries to scream but — oh, no, Natalya won't allow that. <em>

_Yes, she had sharpened her mother's scissors for this very purpose, to make sure the blade would stab so deep, so excruciatingly painful. She makes sure to stab around the kimono; yes, it would be so utterly terrible to ruin such a lovely thing. Well, then blood would definitely stain, but it wouldn't be a problem, no, not really._

"_You should have stayed away from my Vanya," Natalya hisses into the woman's ear, as she carefully slides the kimono off her body. _

_The woman is dead, bare on her own floor like the whore she was._

Well_,__ Natalya __thinks_, what justice_._

* * *

><p><strong>scissors are made from two blades<strong>

* * *

><p><em>The pretty-pretty girl shrieked when she got the sharp tip of scissors stabbed into her stomach, and Natalya was only lucky that no one was close enough to hear it but them. <em>

_Her eyes showed panic and fear, desperately attempting to wriggle away from her attacker, despite her complete lack of physical strength. _

"_No, no, no," she pleads in her nasally voice, tears escaping from her pretty, pretty eyes. "Please — don't, I – I'm begging you…"_

"_Oh," Natalya grins, "but it's too late, little princess. You should have kept yourself where it belonged — away from my dear, dear Vanya."_

_She twists her scissors and pulls them out, and hears her struggle for breath, now, as she collapses to the floor._

_Natalya pulls of that pretty green sash that she wanted, and oh, oopsie, her kimono falls open, and, oh, would you look at that, the little princess is really a little prince._

Interesting_, __Natalya __thinks._

* * *

><p><strong>they carry out their task by being close and scrape against one another<strong>

* * *

><p><em>She is so naïve that she can't even scream when she is mercilessly attacked — she just stands there, dumbfounded. She looks down to her chest, where a pair of sewing scissors are currently lodged. <em>

_She struggles for breath, and it sounds wet and sickly. _

"_Ugly child," Natalya whispers into her ear, as she pulls the knife out as quickly as she had thrust it in. She crumples to her knees, staring at the blood that runs down her chest, down her legs, down her arms._

_She is speechless, tears forming and falling soundlessly down her face._

"_Stupid child," Natalya hisses, kicking the young girl. Oh, yes, she can have her fun this time — there's no kimono to worry about, no sash to worry about, just that lovely hairpiece that lies on the table. _

Digusting_,__ Natalya__ thinks_.

* * *

><p><strong>just like a married couple who get along well<strong>

* * *

><p><em>She runs to find Vanya, and surely, he's at his other house, and she dons the beautiful red kimono with the pretty, pretty green sash and had made sure to stick the delicate yellow hairpins in. <em>

_She knocks at the door and is so pleasantly surprised when he answers._

"_See, see, Vanya?" Natalya says, beaming at him. "I've become the type of girl you like."_

_He looks at her with shock for a moment, before, smiling, with a, "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you."_

* * *

><p><strong>that's what my mother always used to say<strong>

* * *

><p>She cries and cries as she rips out the buttons on his shirt, as she rakes her nails down his face, as she stabs and stabs into his chest.<p>

What was with all this nonsense? It was ridiculous, simply ridiculous — he was talking to her like he was a stranger, _a__ stranger_! Oh, this wasn't her Vanya, couldn't be her Vanya —

She stares at him with a gruesome appearance, blood spattering her face and her hair and her fair, fair hands. She sits on his chest, tracing his strong jawline with her soft, slender fingers, whispering in his ear, "How is it? Aren't I _beautiful_?"

* * *

><p><strong>the more you sharpen it the better it cuts<strong>

* * *

><p>The neighborhood is chaotic, for the life of those in it is. It seems the last two members of that household were mercilessly slaughtered that night. The people flee from their homes; the women murmur to each other in their protection group; the men warily watch over them, fearful for the women's lives and their own.<p>

Natalya is so very awake as she opens up business that afternoon.

_Hm_, she thinks as she begins tailoring, _perhaps __I __need__ some __new __scissors._

_After all, these have gotten quite…dull._


End file.
